


Blackbird

by Supertights



Category: Marvel, New Warriors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Male Friendship, Not Beta Read, Off-Screen Child Abuse, POV First Person, Teenagers, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supertights/pseuds/Supertights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie has a lot of friends, most are casual and distant, kids he goes to school with. When a new family moves in at the beginning of summer, befriending the boy next door challenges all that he's learned about friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackbird

**Author's Note:**

> This is not intended to be an in-depth analysis of the abuse Vance suffered as a child and as such will include no graphic displays of the physical abuse.

Some of the best and worst things in life have a habit of starting out small and then taking on a shape that we didn't expect. Like the family next door expecting a new addition to the four children they already have and suddenly the apartment is too small for six point five human beings.

They move out to the suburbs and a new family moves in.

I meet them in the hallway the day they arrive with all the boxes and battered furniture that make up the sum total of their lives. The parents are like all parents, stiff and above the noises of teenage boys. Their son, the one and only child they appear to have, seems quiet. I ask him if he plays basketball and he nods. Then his father bellows at him to bring the box in already, and he rolls his eyes at me as if apologising.

Later I find out his name is Vance. My folks have already introduced themselves to the Astroviks and made plans for a dinner sometime in the near future.

When I go to my room, I sit on the window, feet dangling over the fire escape, catching a breeze in the extreme heat. This summer is a killer, so hot that the breeze isn't cooling me down at all, and sweat drips down my face. The window next door opens and Vance looks out and around, noticing me.

"Hey," he calls, "That's your room?"

"Yeah."

He'll be starting at the same school after the summer ends, he tells me.

"At least you'll know someone there," I say. He seems relieved about it.

"It's hard making new friends," he replies.

That's not something I know about, I've always lived in this apartment even if my parents make plans every other weekend to buy a house in the suburbs with real grass and trees. I don't need grass or trees, I need pavement and friends and the only world I've ever known.

I learn that he loves superheroes and comic books and sports and has a good sense of humor, or maybe bad, because he laughs at all my jokes. I ask him if he had a girlfriend before he had to move and he said no, just a lot of friends. We sit and shoot the breeze for a while, until his Mom calls him in for dinner.

My bed is against the shared wall so when I hear a thump and a yelp a few hours later when I'm doing my homework, I think, 'That's coming from next door.' I lean against the wall, ear pressed to the surface, but I don't hear anything else.

When I see Vance next, I ask him about it.

"Oh, I was putting up a poster and fell off the bed," he says, but his mouth is tight and turned down, and his eyes don't meet mine. His head falls forward, hair flopping over his face.

I know a lie when I hear one. "Sure," I reply, shrugging it off. It's possible I guess.

He looks worried though. "I didn't know the walls were so thin, I'll try not to fall off the bed again anytime soon."

The summer feels like forever to me, hot and uncomfortable, and Vance in long sleeves is something I notice right away. He always wears long sleeves and at least two layers most of the time, even when we play basketball. Sometimes he moves slow and apologizes for not keeping up his side of the game. He doesn't get picked for team stuff on those days. Just sits on the sidelines looking kind of pissed off. I think about asking him why but the opportunity to do it casually never comes up until the day we see the fire hydrant spraying water out across the street in a fine mist of spray. All the kids are there, screaming and jumping and dancing around under the water. I make a noise of approval and Vance grins at me.

"Can we?" he asks, like he's never seen anything like this before and maybe he hasn't.

I pull off my shirt and tuck it in the back of my shorts, running through the water like a madman. Vance keeps his shirt on. Which is weird. It's a white shirt so when the water lands on him, it makes it go almost transparent. I see them, small smeary looking dark spots on his upper arms, larger ones on his sides, different colors. I look for him after they shut the water off but he's gone.

Thinking about it later, when I'm sitting at home over the dinner table telling everyone about the awesome time we had and starting into this great joke, I realise what they are and go quiet, mouth half open, my family waiting on the punchline. I suck in a breath and shut my mouth.

Bruises in the shape of hands or fists, fingers or knuckles. I only see those kinds of bruises after fights at school.

Now I feel sick so when I beg off and say I don't feel well, it's believable.

I go to my room and sit in the window, waiting for him to appear. He does eventually. He doesn't say anything, just slouches over and sits next to me on the fire escape.

"So," I begin. "What's up? You falling off the bed a lot? Down the stairs? Into doors--" I know how it sounds even as it comes out of my mouth, and I feel like shit and slow up for a minute, gathering my thoughts.

His face is red but he still doesn't say anything. Won't look at me.

"Onto your Dad's fists?" I say, my tone higher and angrier.

He looks back at his window like he's scared someone might have heard me, then stares at me when no one appears. I cry before he does. It's almost the end of summer now and we've been friends for what feels like forever, and he's hurting and being hurt and I want to do something but I don't know what's going to help him.

"It's okay, Richie. Don't feel bad," he says then he looks like he might say more but closes his mouth and stays quiet. We both do. For a long time, just sitting. "I can't talk about it," he finally says. "It's too hard."

I don't understand why he can't tell me but I reply with the only thing I can that means anything. "I'm here for you, man, whenever you need me, I'm here. I promise, day or night, if you ever want to talk, if you ever need help or a safe place to crash." It goes unspoken between us that I'm gonna be keeping an ear out and the first time I hear something coming from beyond that wall I don't like, I'm calling my folks and telling them to get the cops no matter what the consequences-- even if he hates me for doing it. "I've got your back."

"Thanks, Richie," he says but the shadows of doubt are still there in his expression. He thinks my promise is an empty one maybe. I can't convince him that it's not. Not yet anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> An amnesty entry for Tropes Bingo.
> 
> Title from the Alter Bridge song of the same name.
> 
> This is unbetaed so apologies for my spelling if any non-American words or phrases got through.


End file.
